


Boyracer

by catarrhini



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Police, Cop Fetish, Daddy Kink, Dirty Talk, Father/Son Incest, Incest, Light Bondage, M/M, Parent/Child Incest, Possessive Behavior
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-04
Updated: 2016-11-04
Packaged: 2018-08-29 00:11:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,265
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8468377
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/catarrhini/pseuds/catarrhini
Summary: Legolas is a nasty little delinquent, and his father, the severe Police Chief Thranduil, is more than happy to knock the brat down a few pegs.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mindeer](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mindeer/gifts).



> This piece is specially written for [mindeer](http://archiveofourown.org/users/mindeer). Blame her.

“Chief, I wasn’t trying to undermine you, but-”

When the broad shouldered, severe Police Chief raised his hand to silence the young recruit, she immediately fell silent, self-consciously rubbing the back of her neck, toying with the tendril of auburn that had escaped her severe bun. The Chief didn’t say a word, simply looked down at her from the tall, wing-backed leather chair, his disapproving glower scalding her from across the massive oak desk.

“Tauriel,” he began softly in a voice that smacked of razors and fists. “If you ever, and I mean _ever_ , go rogue again, I’ll have your badge so fast, your head will spin. Do I make myself clear?” She bowed her head in horrible mortification. “Well?”

A timid, rushed knock sounded against the opaque glass on the Chief’s office door. “What is it?” He barked, and a slight man with dark auburn hair opened the door, scowling as he leaned his head in.

“Chief,” he said apologetically. “Sorry to interrupt.”

“This had better be good, Feren,” the Chief snapped. Feren grimaced.

“You ain’t gonna like this,” he grimaced. “Guess who we’ve got in detention right now.” The Chief’s face slackened, and he grit his teeth. With a muttered curse, he turned to Tauriel.

“You’re dismissed,” he snapped. She practically leapt to her feet, but before she could make it past her colleague in the doorway, he added in a grave tone, “And you’d best watch yourself, missy. You’re skating on thin ice.” She nodded rapidly and made her hasty exit.

“You wanna do this now, or you want us to make him suffer for a while?” Feren asked with a bored, sardonic mien. Both men had, at this point, become old hat at this whole routine. The Chief sighed heavily and reached for his mug to take a swig, not grimacing even slightly at the bitter bite of the copious amount of whiskey he’d sloshed in with the coffee.

“Better deal with it now,” he sighed. Under his breath, he muttered, “Son of a bitch,” as he gathered himself and rose to follow Feren to Booking. As they walked down the nondescript, grey halls, the Chief muttered, “What did you find him doing this time?”

“Pleasuring that red-headed boy of his in the park,” Feren answered reluctantly. “Had nearly fifty grams of weed on him, too. Pretty sure he was drunk, but I didn’t administer a breathalyzer.”

“And you told no one of this?”

“I came straight to you,” Feren answered. “Left him cuffed. Didn’t want him getting too comfortable in the interrogation room. Not like last time.” Feren was horrified to feel his cheeks burn red as he recalled the same memory that the Chief was currently trying to shake from his own head, of walking in on the errant boy splayed out on the table with his jeans jerked down around his ankles while he furiously pumped his cock.

They were silent as they reached a door down at the far end of the hall, where Feren stopped and paused as he drew in a fortifying breath. He was clearly quite rattled. He pushed open the door, and when the two entered, the blonde boy, with cuffed hands pulled taut behind his back, turned to the two men with a huge smile.

“Legolas,” the Chief growled in a voice dripping with displeasure.

“Ada!” Legolas cried playfully. “Fancy meeting you here!” Turning to Feren, Legolas purred, “You know, Feren, you didn’t have to give me this lovely jewelry.” He clinked the handcuffs behind his back. “If you wanted to fuck me, all you had to do was ask.” Feren’s eyes bulged and he choked on a cough.

“Thank you, Feren,” the Chief said tersely.

“Good luck, Thranduil,” Feren said, clearly wanting nothing more than to put a door between himself and the horrible miscreant currently handcuffed in the interrogation room. With the door closed behind them, Thranduil turned to his son with a simmering glare. The smile fell from Legolas’ face. Neither spoke for quite some time.

Finally, Thranduil broke the silence. “I suppose you think this is all terribly clever.”

Legolas laughed drily, eyes rolling. “If I were all that clever, surely I wouldn’t have gotten caught.” Thranduil remained standing in the far corner by the door, staring down the boy, arms crossed against his chest.

At length, he clicked his tongue and moved to sit down across from his son at the table. “I have the sneaking suspicion that you wanted to get caught.” Legolas smiled cruelly.

“Well,” he said in a breathy voice, “I _must_ say there’s a certain appeal to being all tied up by big, strong men.” Thranduil snarled.

“Especially appealing when you know your father’s just going to bail you out again, huh?” His knuckles were white where his fingers dug into his knees. Legolas smiled a secret little smile and slowly drew his lip between his teeth.

“And thank you for taking such good care of me, Daddy,” he purred, dragging the childish epithet, eyes dancing with mischief. Thranduil brought his broad hand down hard on the table. Legolas jumped in his seat, startled, but his smile didn’t slip.

“You know, I ought to slap you silly,” he growled through gritted teeth. Legolas slowly lifted his face, baring his neck.

“I wish you would,” he whispered.

Thranduil pushed back hard against the table as he stood, and his chair went tumbling onto its side. He stalked over to Legolas and grabbed the boy by the hair at the back of his head and yanked back so that Legolas was gazing up helplessly at his livid face. The boy bit back a soft moan at the gentle shock of pain. “What are you going to do when you go to college and you fuck around and fail all of your classes? Hmm? Daddy can’t save the day then.”

“Well,” Legolas growled back. “There’s more than one way to earn an A.” He had the gall to wink at his father. “I mean, I give great head. See for yourself.” Thranduil released his grasp on the boy’s hair with a disgusted jerk, and he returned to his side of the table, leaning down with flat palms on the tabletop.

“What am I going to do about you?” He said in a rare moment of transparent despair. Legolas chuckled low and warm.

“You could spank me,” he suggested with dark enthusiasm. “Or tie me up by my toes. Or beat me with a leash. Or …”

“I’ve had enough of your filthy mouth,” Thranduil barked. “If your mother were still alive to hear you-”

“Oh, god,” Legolas moaned, his eyes fluttering shut as his head dropped backwards. “You could wash my mouth out with soap, Daddy. After all, it’s what I deserve.”

“You know what you _really_ deserve?” Thranduil asked, a flash of victory flaring in his eyes momentarily. Legolas hummed quizzically, struggling against his bonds in excitement. Thranduil stood straight again and slowly stalked over to Legolas. Deliberately, he shoved the chair Legolas was sat on until the boy faced him. Legolas struggled against his handcuffs again as he breathlessly looked up at his father.

“What are you going to do?” He whispered with wide eyes.

“Watch me,” Thranduil muttered as he bent at the waist, face mere inches from his son’s. He slid his palms roughly around the curve of Legolas’ hips, reaching down behind, fingers digging into the flesh, searching. Legolas grunted. With clever fingers, Thranduil snared his quarry and straightened back up to his full height, a wallet grasped in one hand and a set of keys dangling from another. “I’m officially seizing your driving license and car keys until you can manage to clean up your act.”

A mask of fury immediately fell over Legolas’ face as he erupted in rage, struggling once more against his bonds. “You fucking bastard! You can’t take my fucking keys!” Thranduil arched an eyebrow.

“I’m the Chief of Police,” he said venomously. “I can do whatever I please.” In Legolas’ fit of rage, Thranduil noticed a glint of silver shining just beneath the collar of his shirt. He dug his fingers into the collar and tugged the fabric down. There, hanging from a short leather cord was a heart-shaped charm that read in all caps:

DADDY’S  
LITTLE  
SLUT

With a snarl, he yanked the necklace from Legolas’ neck. The boy gasped as the cord snapped. Thranduil cruelly dangled the charm in front of Legolas’ eyes. “This is a perverted fucking joke,” he spat out. Legolas pouted. Thranduil turned to leave, and as he reached the door, he looked back at his son sitting all tied up with impotent rage written in the tightness of his lips and the redness of his cheeks. He shoved the broken necklace into his pocket as the thought came to him that he’d really enjoy knocking his son down a peg or two. “Feren will drive you home,” he said as a parting shot. “Whenever he finds the time.”

He could hear Legolas’ furious shouting as he marched back down the long hallway. That boy was going to learn a lesson. He’d make damn sure of that.

 

He tightened his grip on the steering wheel as he took the car around a wide curve on the empty desert road. It was late. He’d stayed hours after he’d normally leave trying to catch up on the stack of paperwork that forever grew on the corner of his desk. Dealing with the bullshit with Legolas the day before had left him with a fractured state of mind in the first place.

The moon and the stars shone so bright in a clear, black sky. The commute home had always been a welcomed respite from the stress of duty, and he raced towards the sanctuary he shared with his pain-in-the-ass son. Just as he rounded a wide curve of highway, a little red sportscar roared past him and dashed headlong down the narrow stretch of highway.

Thranduil grimaced. He didn’t need to read the license plate to know exactly who was behind the wheel, despite that he’d just recently been stripped of license and keys. With a muttered curse, he rolled down the window and plopped a detachable police light to the top of his car and sped up to chase the car down. With almost no hesitation, the other driver pulled over to the side of the road, his engine and headlights still running.

Thranduil pulled to a stop behind the car, and with another snarled curse, he climbed from his seat and walked to the car parked before him, gravel crunching beneath his heavy boots, backlit by the blinding brights of his car. As he reached the window, he tapped the window with the butt of his Maglite and waited for the window to slide down.

Shining the light in the driver’s eyes, he said evenly, “Where’s the fire, boyracer?”

“Evening, officer,” Legolas laughed, squinting through the bright flashlight beam. “What seems to be the problem?”

“Do you have any idea how fast you were driving?” He asked patiently, his voice solid and hard.

“About five miles past go-fuck-yourself, I reckon,” he demurred. Thranduil sighed with a very patient smile and lowered the light from Legolas’ eyes, which registered a momentary shock upon recognizing which officer exactly he’d commanded to go auto-fuck. “Ada.” Thranduil stared down at the juvenile delinquent and ground his teeth hard. He lamented that torture had been deemed unconstitutional. He rested his hand on the gun clipped to his belt and brought the flashlight up to the young man’s face again. “Ada, I-”

“Step out of the vehicle with your hands up.” The command was stern, absolute. Legolas shuffled to unbuckle his seatbelt. “Slowly. Hands where I can see them.”

“Ada, listen-” He began as he climbed from his car with his hands raised above his head.

“Walk to the front of your vehicle and put your hands on the hood,” Thranduil ordered. He delighted to see that Legolas’ chest was rising and falling in shallow breaths. Oh, he was really and truly going to learn his lesson this time.

Thranduil came to stand behind the boy’s bent form, his ass raised up in the air, his palms braced against the steaming car. “Ada, it’s hot. It’s burning my hands.”

“Too bad,” he hissed, shoving Legolas’ legs apart with the butt of the Maglite. Legolas grunted at the abrupt pressure. Slinging the flashlight into its loop on his belt, Thranduil circled Legolas’ upper thigh with cupped hands and began slowly, thoroughly patting down the length of the boy’s leg.

“Would it be too much to ask for a cavity search?” Legolas hissed with a muted moan when Thranduil returned to the upper thigh of his other leg. Thranduil paused, and Legolas took this as an invitation to wiggle his ass for Thranduil’s viewing pleasure. The man pulled away.

“You think that shit’ll work against your own father?” He uttered with a gravelly snarl. Legolas persisted.

“Whatever it takes, Daddy,” he purred, arching his back. “You know I’m happy as long as I’ve got a cock in me. Don’t much care who it belongs to.” In a flash of a second, Thranduil gripped the loose hair at the back of Legolas’ head and pressed his face down hard against the hot car hood.

“Ouch!” Legolas whined. “That fucking hurts, ada.”

“Good,” Thranduil whispered long and low into the boy’s ear. “Someone’s got to teach you not to be such an incorrigible little _slut_.” Legolas groaned as Thranduil pressed his body hard against his, pressing him flush against the hood. “Fucking that Meludir down in the park in broad daylight for anyone to see. Sucking dick for weed. Spreading your ass wide to your teachers for a better grade. Propositioning your own father… Have you no shame at all?”

“None,” Legolas groaned. He ground his hips against his father’s cock and felt a delirious surge of lust in his own sensitive cock.

“Well, I’m calling your bluff, _boy_.” Thranduil panted from the exertion of pinning down his son’s wiry teenage body. Legolas snaked his hips against his father’s cock again, a smirk taking his face.

“Yeah?” He moaned. “Seems like _I’m_ calling your number, Daddy.” Thranduil held his body stock still against the serpentine grinding between his braced legs. “Is that your gun, or are you happy to see me?” With a panicked jolt, Thranduil jerked away from Legolas’ pulsing hips and looked down at the boy, swallowing hard as he willed away his throbbing hardon. He took a deep breath and made a snap decision.

“Fine,” he growled, unsnapping his handcuffs from his belt. “You’ve left me with no choice.” With a powerful twist, he’d nabbed both Legolas’ arms and slammed his chest against the hood, slapping the cuffs in place. “Legolas Thranduilion, you are under arrest for driving without a license, speeding, attempted bribery, assault of an officer and marijuana possession. Do not add resisting arrest to the list.” Legolas stopped struggling, but tears began to stream down his face.

“Ada, please,” he whined. “Stop fucking around. Let me go.”

“After what you’ve put me through?” He scoffed.

“Ada, please! I didn’t mean anything by it. Please don’t do this.”

“You want leniency?” Thranduil said. “It’s too late for that.” Oh, yes, how the boy was going to learn his lesson.

He tried to lift Legolas up to walk him to the backseat of the car, but Legolas twisted loose and immediately fell to his knees in front of his father, like an altar boy coming to worship. The headlights lit his wild blonde hair like a silver nimbus. He looked up at his father with red eyes and trembling lips, shoulders pulled tight by the awkward angle of his bondage.

“Please, ada. I’m so sorry. I’ll do anything. Please don’t put me in jail.” In desperation, he pressed his face against the straining bulge of his father’s dark blue wool slacks. In disgust, Thranduil grabbed the back of his hair and yanked his head away, glaring down into his son’s watery eyes.

“Maybe we should see just how far this bluff of yours goes, you little slut,” he whispered, and he searched his son’s eyes, now deep with intense desire. His resolve snapped and, with his free hand, he yanked down the zipper of his trousers and freed his thick, throbbing dick. Legolas hissed in appreciative shock and licked his lips. He struggled against the strong fist still holding him at bay, aching to take the veiny cock into his mouth. The second Legolas slipped his lips over the head of his father’s cock, the man gave over to the dark desire coursing through him. He began thrusting immediately, his balls slapping against his boy’s chin. Legolas’ eyes rolled to the back of his head as he groaned around the hard, pistoning cock.

“If you swallow any of your spit, I’m going to slap your face,” he barked, pumping his hips harder as his grip on his son’s hair grew fiercer. “I want to see it drip down your bratty little face.” Legolas opened his jaw wider, taking his daddy’s cock deeper, and rivulets of saliva slipped from his mouth, strings of drool hanging from his chin as it dripped down onto his ada’s boots. “You like that, boy?” He jerked Legolas’ head back to hear his answer.

“Yes, ada. I love your cock,” he gasped, burning with the desire to wipe the gobs of drool off his chin. The handcuffs bit into his wrists.

“Good,” he growled as he shoved his cock back down the boy’s throat. “Is this better than that little boyfriend of yours you’ve been fucking down in the park? Is my cock bigger?” Legolas groaned around the slick skin sliding across his tongue. “Who do you think could fuck you better?” He yanked Legolas’ head away. “Me or him?”

“You, Daddy!” Legolas moaned. Thranduil absently noticed the small, damp patch growing on the crotch of his son’s jeans. “I need you to fuck me, ada!”

“Too fucking bad,” he snarled, shoving his cock back where it belonged in Legolas’ hot, slick mouth. He gave several more sharp thrusts before his back arched and he filled Legolas’ tender mouth with his hot, bitter come. “Swallow it, boy. Swallow it all. Swallow the come that made you.” Legolas struggled to swallow the whole creamy load, and a small drop slipped from his lips and ran down his chin. Thranduil leaned down and gave his flushed cheek a sharp slap. “I said swallow it all.”

“Sorry, Daddy,” Legolas whispered, staring at his father’s boots.

“You will be,” he hissed into Legolas’ ear, “if I ever hear about you fucking some spotty, tiny-dicked teenager again.” Legolas nodded in contrition. “Especially when you already know exactly what you are.” Thranduil straightened up and readjusted his clothes while Legolas waited miserably on stinging knees.

“And what’s that?” He finally asked.

Thranduil smiled cruelly and said, “Daddy’s little slut.” He uncuffed his grinning son, then he thrust a piece of paper at the boy’s damp face, but it fluttered to the ground before Legolas could grasp it.

“A fucking speeding ticket?” He screeched.

“Yeah,” he said nonchalantly. “And if you aren’t home in ten minutes, your ass is in real trouble.” Legolas trembled.

As Thranduil got back into his car and began to drive off into the night, he thought damn right that the boy was going to learn his lesson. And Thranduil was going to enjoy teaching him.


End file.
